


Coffee and TV

by Rebness



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Manipulation, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse is a changed person after rehab and the loss of Jane. Walt isn't sure he likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and TV

 

‘You want some breakfast?’

Jesse looked up from the couch, where he lay wrapped in a thick blanket, and rubbed at his eyes blearily. ‘What time is it?’

Walt checked his wristwatch. ‘It’s gone 8am.’

‘Why are you up at 8am?’

‘I have to go to work, Jesse.’

The kid lay his head back down. ‘Why would you work when you got all that money?’

Walt rolled his eyes. ‘Do you want breakfast or not?’

‘Nah.’  

‘Are you sure?’ he prodded. ‘You didn’t eat much last night. You must be famished.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Jesse. ‘I’m just really tired, is all. I’ll have some coffee later.’ He pulled the blanket around himself tighter. ‘Have a good day.’

‘Well -- all right. Just -- you know, you take care of -- I mean, have a good day yourself, okay?’ He fumbled about with his keys and coat, awaiting an answer, a grunt of response, _anything_ , but Jesse had already closed himself off for the day.

 

* * *

 

Having Jesse around hadn’t been the hardship Walt had imagined: he knew what a terribly messy person Pinkman was, and he was constantly afraid the doorbell would ring and Skyler -- or worse, Walt Jr. -- would be at the door and they would be confronted with Walt’s meth-cooking junkie wannabe thug partner, Jesse Pinkman. But neither of these things had happened: there was no call from his family, and Jesse had been tidy, quiet and barely noticeable in the apartment.

Of course, that was the most disturbing thing: this simply wasn’t the Jesse he knew. There was no spark of mischief in the kid, no angry outbursts or testy asides to Walt. He was sober and somber. It was as if the Jesse he knew had died that same night alongside her--

He arrested that thought. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. It would have only been a matter of time. _It wasn’t his fault._

 

* * *

 

He kept the second cellphone on him during the day; there was no point in trying to hide things from Skyler now, and Jesse might need him for something.

There were four chemistry classes that day, two of which were with better-behaved students and one with the AP class. They were pleasant enough for Walt because here were kids who actually wanted to learn.

The final class of the day was the Clown Class, where there were at least three troublemakers. Walt had dealt with scores of these idiots as they passed through his classes over the years, and few of them ever managed to get under his skin. He sometimes enjoyed the combat.

He hadn’t enjoyed it with Jesse Pinkman. That had been a frustrating failure.

He turned from the board as the class filed out from their lesson, and recalled the familiar sight of Jesse sitting in that seat near the back, chewing on his pen as he re-did his homework. He’d been so frustrated and earnest, his bravado gone when the other students had left for the day and he was alone with Mr. White.

‘We don’t know what to do with him,’ Jesse’s mother had said. ‘There’s no getting through to him.’

‘I’ll find a way,’ he’d assured her. ‘There’s something more to him. You can see it in him, every once in a while.’

But Jesse had been determined to fall. And when Walt had flunked him from that class and they’d had their last ever lesson together, Jesse had given him a bitter smirk: _serves you right._

It’d been the last he’d seen of the brat until that day he’d fallen from the roof of that house. How fortuitous for Walt: _serves you right._

He had known there’d been trouble at home; he hadn’t known about the aunt with cancer. He imagined Jesse being churlish and angry in the face of it the way Walt Jr. had been, but the image wouldn’t hold. Jesse had been sympathetic that day in the desert, when he’d found out.

He was a good kid.

His story shouldn’t end with an overdose in some squalid bedsit. Such a waste of life! He would have died, Walt was sure of it.

_It wasn’t my fault._

 

* * *

 

When Walt returned to the apartment towards early evening, his first thought was that Jesse was gone; the place was enshrouded in darkness. His heart sank.

He entered the apartment, turned on the lights and looked around. The room was tidy, but Jesse’s bag was tucked away discreetly at the side of the couch. Walt breathed a relieved sigh. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the cellphone, flipping it open and bringing up Jesse’s number. He hesitated for a moment, then put the cellphone back into his pocket.

He set about making dinner, slightly annoyed when he checked his wristwatch to see it was nearly nine. He scooped a portion of the pasta onto his plate, and then walked to the trashcan to throw the rest of it away. He decided against it at the last moment and instead retrieved a plate and set aside a portion for Jesse.

He ate his meal in the den, careful to put some music on to dispel the oppressive silence of the apartment. There was the sound of a vibrating cellphone and he ran to the kitchen to pick it up. It was just a text message. He opened it up to read:

 

_Miss u dad. Mom’s still being a bitch but I think she misses u_

 

He smiled. He wrote back:

_I miss you too. We should go for pizza this week and talk it out. Don’t call your mom names, things will be fine._

 

A key turned in the door and hopelessly, foolishly, he expected Skyler to be there. But it was only Jesse, quiet and unassuming, shrugging off his coat and placing it in the closet.

‘Hey,’ said Walt.

‘Hey,’ he muttered.

‘I wasn’t sure where you’d got to.’

Jesse shrugged. ‘I went out for a walk.’ He sat down on the couch and picked up the remote.

Walt eyed him suspiciously. His eyes seemed clear enough, and he didn’t have that glazed, remote expression he wore when high, but still he wasn’t himself. Walt snorted humorlessly: Jesse hadn’t been himself for several days now. He wondered vaguely if he ever would be again.

‘I made dinner. Do you want me to heat it up?’

Jesse shook his head. ‘Nah, s’okay. I had something before.’

‘Oh.’ Walt turned to the kitchen. ‘I’ll just throw it away, then.’

‘Okay.’

‘Unless you want it in the morning?’

Jesse wrinkled his nose. ‘Nah, I’m good.’

‘Jesse—‘

‘I’m a bit tired, Mr. White. Is it okay with you if I just turn in?’

Walt shrugged. ‘Yes, of course. I told you, make yourself at home.’

 

* * *

 

He got up in the early hours to take a leak. There was a faint hum in the apartment, and as he cracked open his bedroom door, the faint neon blue glow of the television illuminated the hallway. The sound was turned down low.

‘Jesse?’ he ventured.

No response.

He entered the den and grabbed the remote from the table. Jesse lay curled on his side, his features relaxed in sleep. The ugly wretched dead-to-the-world look he’d had that fateful night was gone.

_It wasn’t my fault._

‘You’d never understand,’ he whispered.

Jesse fidgeted in his sleep and turned away.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Walt awoke to the sound of clattering in the kitchen. He showered and got dressed, and joined Jesse there. He listened with displeasure as the low thud of some antisocial music drifted through the open kitchen window.

‘Like all that rap crap you lot listen to these days,’ he said accusingly, as if Jesse had placed the stereo out there.

Jesse regarded him, his expression deadpan. ‘Yeah.’

Walt set his cup down. ‘This coffee’s a little bitter.’

He shrugged. ‘I probably put too much in.’ He gazed out of the window, towards the nondescript parking lot. When he turned back to Walt and saw him staring, he shrugged again. ‘What?’

‘Nothing – you – are you going out today?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Maybe you should see Saul about your money, start the ball rolling.’

Jesse frowned. ‘You want me to leave.’

‘No!’ he protested. ‘No, that’s not it at all. I said you could stay for a few days, until you’re better-‘’

‘I am better,’ said Jesse, bristling.

‘—I know, I know,’ he soothed. ‘It just can’t be good for you sitting around all day.’

‘I don’t sit around all day, yo. I _think_ about stuff. I do things.’ He gestured to the drink in Walt’s hand. ‘I made you coffee, didn’t I?’  

‘You know I don’t mean that. Maybe you’re thinking too much.’

Jesse took another sip of coffee. He smirked. ‘Right, ‘cos that’s what I do. Think too much, you're always telling me that.’ He took another sip, then poured the rest of the coffee down the sink before rinsing the mug and placing it on the counter. ‘You have a good day, Mr. White. I’ll see ya later.’

 

* * *

 

 A vague sense of unease curled in Walt’s stomach and persisted throughout the day. Nobody contacted him except Hank, with one of his awkward Man Texts assuring him everything would be all right.

It had been days and Jesse had barely spoken, much less been the little bastard Walt expected him to be. He was quiet, tidy and conscientious; everything Walt had wanted from him since the day he had first met the skinny little troublemaker back when he was barely a teenager.

He didn’t like it.

 

* * *

 

On the way home after work, he stopped off at the pizza joint nearby. He considered buying some beer as well, but couldn’t decide whether that was a no-no when it came to recovering addicts.

He made his way up to the apartment and opened the door. Jesse was sprawled on the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV.

‘Hey,’ said Jesse’.

‘Hey. What’re you watching?’

‘A movie.’

Walt frowned. ‘Right.’

‘I saw my parents today,’ Jesse offered. He still did not look away from the television screen.

‘Oh? Are they okay?’

‘Yeah, they’re always okay.’ He rubbed at his nose.

‘Were they glad to see – you know, did they think you looked—‘

Jesse shrugged. ‘Yeah. I’m gonna go see Saul in the morning.’

Walt blinked. ‘That’s good.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jesse. He finally looked at Walt; his gaze fell on the pizza box. ‘You got take out?’

‘I thought you might want some pizza.’

‘Maybe later.’

‘It’s better now, when it’s hot,’ he insisted. He carried the box into the kitchen and set out a couple of slices on a plate. He returned to the den and sat down next to Jesse, handing him the plate. ‘Go on, it’s a shame to waste it.’

‘I’m not really hungry,’ said Jesse. ‘I’ve had a shit ton of coffee and stuff today.’

‘It’s only two slices.’

Jesse regarded him suspiciously, as he might a stranger offering him a favour out of the blue. ‘You have the other one.’

‘All right.’ He took one slice, watching with satisfaction as Jesse took a bite of the other. ‘Good?’

Jesse shrugged.

On the television screen, a man desperately tried to evade the questions from an auditor. ‘Ah, it’s _Fargo_ ,’ said Walt. ‘I saw this years ago.’

‘Don’t tell me the ending,’ said Jesse irritably.

They didn’t talk at all during the remainder of the film. Jesse seemed mesmerised by it – no, Walt decided, it wasn’t that – it was as if he was spaced out, but Walt was certain he wasn’t using. He wondered if Jesse was just one of those people who really got into the things they watched.

A character returned to the remote cabin where his accomplice was hiding out, and stared at the body of the kidnapped woman sprawled in an undignified heap on the floor.

‘A dead body like that—‘ said Jesse abruptly.

Walt looked at him sharply; the kid stared at the TV, a hard expression on his face.

‘Isn’t there anything better on?’ asked Walt.

‘Nah, I wanna see this one through,’ said Jesse. His drummed the fingers of his left hand on the couch, clenched it into a fist, opened it again and flexed his fingers. There was a tremor in his hand.

Walt didn’t say anything.

Waking up next to a dead person. What resilience would you need to pull yourself through that? He imagined if it were Skyler, and shook his head. Not the same. She was his _wife_ , for Christ’s sake—

 _It  wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault_!

‘It always catches up with you,’ said Jesse.

‘W-what?’

The kid gestured to the screen, where the pregnant cop chased the killer across a frozen wasteland. ‘That’s what they taught me in rehab, so I guess it isn’t like a cliché. Badger’s a dick, thinks he knows everything.’

Walt shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s just a film.’

‘I s’pose,’ he said dully.

The sun had set outside, and the apartment was growing darker with the dimming light of day. Walt reached across to the side table and turned on the light. Jesse didn’t stir.

The cop had apprehended the killer. She was calm and just, talking him to him softly as he glowered at her impotently in the back of the police car:

‘ _So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there. And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper. And those three people in Brainerd. And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don'tcha know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day._ ’ She shook her head. ‘ _Well. I just don't understand it._ ’

An angry, baffled sob rapped Walt’s senses. He cast an alarmed look at Jesse. The kid’s eyes were furrowed, his mouth set in a grim line.

‘Jesse?’

Jesse brought a hand to his face, covering his eyes. His body shook but he turned away from Walt.

He lay a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly. ‘It’s all right,’ he said softly.

Jesse shoved him away. ‘I’m tired,’ he said crossly. ‘I need to take a leak.’ He jumped up from the couch and stalked to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

He was in there for some time, but Walt didn’t dare speak. He walked around the den a couple of times, glanced at the door, back at the TV, then went to the kitchen. He fumbled about there for a while, pulling out a mixing bowl and ingredients.

He heard the bathroom door open as he worked away, and the TV switched to some annoying and loud advertisement. He finished his work in the kitchen, and then returned to the den with two mugs. He handed one to Jesse. ‘There you go, son.’

Jesse looked up. His eyes were bright, the skin underneath slightly red-rimmed and puffy, but his expression was peaceful. ‘Cocoa? Thanks.’ He took a sip and wrapped his hands around the mug. ‘Yeah, good.’

Walt sat down next to him, taking a sip from his own mug. ‘What’s this now?’ he asked, gesturing to the TV.

Jesse shrugged. ‘ _Hell’s Kitchen_.’

‘Ah. Why is he shouting so much?’

‘That’s what he does. Shouts a lot. Orders people around like he owns the place.’ Jesse cast him a sly look. ‘He’s a dick.’

‘’He’s probably sick of dealing with little smart asses,’ said Walt.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ He lifted his feet up and rested them on the table, scowling when Walt slapped his leg to remove them. ‘You got any more of that pizza left?’

 

 

The End 

 


End file.
